


Be Quiet, Big Boys Don’t Cry

by Polaris



Series: I’m Not in Love [6]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Bad Timeline AU, Grief/Mourning, Not A Fix-It, Other, Ravager funerals, Sad raccoon sex, Sean Gunn forgive me I’m back on my bullshit, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 06:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13828467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaris/pseuds/Polaris
Summary: Finally being alone, really alone, with nothing to do, brings it all home.Yondu’s dead. Rocket’s going on a road trip with Kraglin in the morning to get the rest of the guys who died.





	Be Quiet, Big Boys Don’t Cry

Rocket stays until after the colors fade. 

After the others drift away, he stays, staring hard at the place where he could swear he saw the arrow. He wants to know if anyone else saw it too, but it seems heartless to ask Quill, when he’s barely holding it together. 

Stakar’s ship is still hovering out there, along with another, smaller ship that Rocket guesses must belong to someone who loved Yondu a lot. So many ships came when he called. He bets Yondu would be able to name every one of them, if he was here.

The wave of grief nearly knocks him on his ass; he sways a little, grabbing the edge of the nav console to keep himself upright. It’s just like Groot all over again, only there’s no replacement, no sweet little blue baby to chase around and tuck in and love.

Rocket can feel his eyes starting to burn, and gives into the pressure building in his throat. The sob feels punched out, shaking him with its intensity.

What are you supposed to do when the only person who’s ever really seen you is gone?

Rocket finally just sits, riding out the grief until it passes and leaves him hollow. Then he stares out at the two Ravager ships, idly wondering if they plan on making any contact or if they’re just gonna lurk like weirdos.

He isn’t surprised when the comm beeps. What does surprise him is that Quill doesn’t come back to the bridge to take the call.

It beeps again, so Rocket gets up on shaky legs to answer.

“How did it happen?” asks the lank-haired woman who appears on the screen. Her eyes are smudged with dark makeup, like she hasn’t washed her face in days. Rocket can see a couple streaks of black down her cheeks.

He swallows. “We had to blow up the planet,” he says after a pause. “Quill—Yondu’s kid—he got stuck behind, so Yondu took a space suit and an aero rig to stay an’ get him. There was just one space suit.” 

The woman’s eyes slide shut and her face tightens. “I see,” she whispers.

Rocket has so many questions; he wants to know who she is, what Yondu meant to her. He wants to know what she’s really trying to ask, because there’s more to this, he can tell.

“Quill. He’s the boy Yondu kept?” The woman tilts her head, birdlike.

“Yeah.” Rocket swallows. 

“You sent the message,” she says flatly.

“Yeah, I did.”

“You were his friend, then?”

Rocket flinches. “He was mine. Dunno if it went both ways. I didn’t know him that long.”

He isn’t looking, but she goes quiet for a bit. Then she asks, “where’s the _Eclector?_ ”

“Gone.” Rocket looks down at the deck. “There was a mutiny.”

She hisses a breath, and Rocket dares to look up.

Her face is white with rage, mouth tight and eyes flashing. “Where are they now?”

“Dead.” Rocket blinks. “Kraglin came back, but Yondu took out everyone else.”

She parts her lips to say something, but then her eyes snap to a point behind Rocket.

When Rocket turns to look, Kraglin’s standing there, clutching Yondu’s arrow like a kid. He’s staring wide-eyed at the woman. 

Rocket never heard him coming. 

“Cap’n Ogord,” Kraglin croaks. He raises a fist to salute.

Ogord? Rocket turns back to her. 

“You’re the only one left?” she asks him. Her voice is small.

Kraglin’s eyes well up and he nods.

She sucks in a shaky breath and nods too. “You stayed with him till the end.”

Kraglin don’t have much chin, but he raises it. “The mutiny was my fault.”

“What?” Ogord’s dark eyes narrow dangerously.

“I didn’t mean to,” Kraglin tells her desperately. “I just had t’ speak up about Quill, an’ then Taserface said somethin’ about new leadership, an’ things just—” He chokes on a sob. “If I’d kept my mouth shut, he’d still be here.”

“You were the one who got us out, stupid,” snaps Rocket. “It was me who didn’t pack enough space suits.”

Kraglin stares at him blankly.

Rocket looks away. “I told you to take off,” he says quietly.

He can hear Kraglin swallow. “An’ I did,” he says back, just as softly.

“Did _anyone_ else stay loyal to Yondu?” Ogord asks, sounding desperate.

“The ones that did all got spaced,” says Rocket shortly. He tries not to remember it while he’s awake; bad enough he’s gonna be dreaming about it for awhile.

Kraglin heaves another sob.

It’s a minute before Ogord speaks again. “Obfonteri,” she says gently, “where are they?”

Kraglin looks at her, blotchy face twisted up with confusion. 

“Your loyal crew. Where are they now?” she repeats.

“They, uh—” Kraglin wipes his face. “Ones that didn’t get blown up when the _Eclector_ went’ll still be at our last coordinates.”

She nods thoughtfully. “We’re going to give them the rites.”

Kraglin gasps. 

“What’s going on?” Quill’s back; when Rocket twists around, he’s standing there with Gamora, confusion all over his face. 

His eyes are red.

“Peter Quill?” asks Ogord.

“Yeah. Who are you?”

She looks pained. “Yondu never told you about us?”

“He didn’t talk about the other Ravager factions, except to warn me we weren’t welcome among them,” says Quill apologetically. “You were a friend of his?”

“Pete,” Kraglin starts, but Ogord cuts him off.

“He was my son.”

Rocket’s mouth falls open, and he sees the same flash of shock and hurt on Quill’s face.

“Your—oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he stutters. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t do anything wrong,” Ogord says with a little smile. After a beat she smirks. “You look like him. Not sure how he managed that.”

Rocket remembers Drax saying the same thing and looks closer. Okay, yeah, aside from the skin color, he guesses there is something similar about Quill. The eyes, maybe, or the shape of his mouth—

Rocket ain’t gonna think about the shape of his mouth. He looks down as it comes crashing over him again, that Yondu’s gone and Rocket’s never gonna get to see what might have happened between them. If those red eyes could have seen him as more than an animal, or if those pretty blue lips might have wanted to do more than talk—

Ogord is talking again, and Rocket’s panting without realizing it, hugging himself to keep from falling apart. 

“You can see why I’d be uncomfortable with us splitting up so soon after this mess,” Quill says. “The Quadrant is pretty beat up from jumping too fast and the Sovereign still want us dead.”

“I realize. That’s why my husband will keep pace with the Quadrant while Obfonteri goes ahead with my escort.”

Kraglin looks numb with shock.

“What guarantee do we have that this isn’t some trick?” Gamora’s pretty suspicious considering it was her idea to go with Ego in the first place. Rocket wants to be mad at her, but he can’t quite manage it.

Ogord gives her a hard stare. “You’re not a Ravager, daughter of Thanos, so I won’t take offense at your ignorance. Yondu’s son is my kin. Ask him what that means to us.”

Gamora looks at Quill.

He can’t meet her eyes. “It’s not a trick,” he mutters. “We have a Code.”

Gamora takes the hint and doesn’t press, although she does slip her arm around his waist protectively.

Something about that makes Rocket slightly sick. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stand it if they start with the casual displays of affection. “I ain’t a Ravager either, but I was there for the mutiny,” he says. “If Kraglin wants backup, I’ll go with.”

It’s impulsive, the urge to go. He wants to get away from it all, from Quill and his heartbreak and from the others, who never knew Yondu like Rocket did. Who are only sad because Quill’s sad. Who have no idea what the universe lost.

He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, especially Kraglin’s.

“You said you didn’t know Yondu long,” says Ogord after a beat.

Rocket nods, refusing to look at her.

“You can come.” Kraglin’s voice is clear.

Rocket spins around.

“You were there. You stood by him at the end.” Kraglin swallows. “You got every right.”

Rocket swallows the lump in his throat and nods. 

Quill looks between them, picking up on the mostly unspoken thing between them (not even a little like Quill and Gamora’s unspoken thing; that’s a happy thing, blooming slowly between them like one of Groot’s flowers, and Rocket can’t think about it without jealousy stealing his breath).

“Bring them back here for the funeral,” Quill declares. “To the Quadrant, I mean.”

Kraglin cocks his head, studying Quill for a moment. Then he nods and thumps his chest. “Aye, Cap’n.”

“I’ll get an M-ship for you,” Ogord tells them. 

Quill nods, looking exhausted. “Thank you for doing this,” he says quietly.

“It’s the absolute least I can do.” She sounds bitter. “Get some rest. I’ll bring you over at 0800 tomorrow morning.” The comm goes dead.

Quill looks at Kraglin. “You’re sure you’re okay doing this?”

“It’s gotta be done.” Kraglin shuffles his feet. “...they killed Oblo an’ Tullk.”

Quill’s face twists and he turns away. “ _Shit,_ ” he whispers.

Gamora watches him helplessly, hands twitching at her sides.

It’s Rocket who leaves the bridge then. He isn’t sure where he’s supposed to sleep, but at this point he could crash anywhere. It’s been—he’s not actually sure when he last slept. At least two days, he thinks. 

God.

He eventually finds a room with an empty bed and flops onto it. It stinks like booze and unwashed humie, but it’s soft. Finally being alone, really alone, with nothing to do, brings it all home again.

Yondu’s dead. He’s going on a road trip with Kraglin in the morning to get the rest of the guys who died.

Rocket curls into a ball and cries.

—

It’s the second thing he thinks of in the morning, right after he opens his eyes and realizes he needs to piss. Rocket throws an arm over his eyes, which feel tender and dry, and swallows hard to keep down the burning in his throat.

Kraglin looks like shit when Rocket finally makes it to the galley, which doesn’t actually make him feel better. He just takes the cup Kraglin offers him and fills it with coffee; the shit smells vile, but Rocket could use the boost.

“0800, huh?” he mumbles, mostly to fill the silence.

Kraglin nods hollowly.

Right. Rocket may be rethinking this trip if that’s how it’s gonna be.

Quill comes in then with Groot on his shoulder, and the sight of them is almost enough to send Rocket off again. Groot hops off of Quill and heads straight for Rocket, so Rocket sets his coffee aside and scoops him up.

“Hey, Groot,” he says softly. “You sleep okay?”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket has to swallow the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Me too.”

Groot looks at him with big sad eyes. “I am Groot?”

That makes Rocket’s ears go back. Fuck, that’s right; Groot was there the last time they saw Yondu. He saw how Rocket got. The kid’s too damn observant for his own good. “I—”

Groot pats his arm and gives him a wobbly smile. “I am Groot,” he says soothingly, and wiggles down to go get some food.

Rocket stares after him, stricken.

“What?” Quill asks gently.

Rocket jumps a little. “I—nothin’. Take care of him while I’m gone.”

“Of course.” Quill’s tone ain’t that different than on the bridge when he’d all but promised Rocket he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how many batteries Rocket steals.

Rocket swallows again. “Good. That’s—yeah. Good.”

Quill gives him a weak smile. “Here,” he says, handing over a storage chip. “Mom always said it wasn’t a road trip without music, so I cloned what was on the data banks for you.”

Rocket takes it slowly, feeling his throat close up. He nods. “Thanks.”

Gamora comes in then, dressed in the same soft-looking shirt she had on for the funeral yesterday. “Rocket, are you sure you want to do this?” she asks immediately.

Rocket’s ears flatten and he fights the urge to bare his teeth at her. 

“He’d say so if he didn’t.” Kraglin’s the one who pipes up, hiding behind his coffee cup.

Gamora blinks; it’s like everyone forgets Kraglin unless he speaks, and that annoys Rocket for some reason. “Of course,” she says after an awkward pause.

Rocket throws back the last of his coffee and washes the cup. He’s got nothing to pack; all his shit’s still on the _Milano._ It’s gonna be a long hour until their M-ship is ready.

“You want help packing?” he asks Kraglin.

“No.” Kraglin sounds mournful. “I shoved my stuff in a bag before he blew the ship. ‘S still there.”

Right. Kraglin’s homeless too. Rocket wonders what he had to leave behind. The poor guy really does look like hell. He showered this morning, so his normally greasy hair is fluffed up like a burst seed pod, but his face is gaunt and his eyes are red. His throat bobs when he swallows another mouthful of coffee.

Quill rests his hand on Kraglin’s shoulder when he passes close by to get to the coffee; Kraglin wilts under the touch, squeezing his eyes shut.

The hour goes faster than Rocket expected; Drax comes in and wants to piece together what happened and where the _Milano_ is now. Rocket keeps it brief. He doesn’t wanna share those long hours with Yondu in their cell with anyone. 

It’s all he’s got, after all, and he’s selfish.

While he talks, he notices Kraglin watching him. Those puffy eyes don’t miss much, for all the guy’s sense of timing is apparently shit. Rocket quirks an eyebrow, silently inviting him to chime in since he’s obviously got opinions about Rocket’s version of events.

Kraglin looks away.

Then it’s time. The M-ship is piloted by a grim-faced woman in green. She gives Kraglin a sullen salute, which he returns. 

“You’re supposed to drop me back at the ship,” she tells him. “Cap’n wants to see you.”

Kraglin’s jaw tightens, but he nods.

It’s a tense trip over to Ogord’s ship; Rocket’s dying of curiosity, but he’s not about to ask in front of the pilot. He forces himself to be still, watching Kraglin pace and finger the handle of his big knife. By the time they finally dock, Kraglin’s shoulders are stiff and he smells like stress. 

And then the door opens, and Kraglin takes a deep breath. His shoulders go loose and his stride lengthens to a slow stalk. He looks dangerous, and that ain’t something Rocket’s seen from him before.

Rocket falls into step beside him, keeping half a wary eye on him as they step into the hangar. 

Ogord is waiting for them, flanked by more women in green leathers. They’re both taller than her; she might be the smallest woman Rocket’s ever seen.

It doesn’t matter when she steps away from her entourage and heads toward Kraglin; she moves like a predator. She stops in front of them and looks Kraglin over.

“I remember the last time I saw you,” she tells him. “You called me some names.”

Kraglin averts his eyes. “If ya want me to apologize, I ain’t gonna.”

She snorts. “You’d better not. The only reason I didn’t follow him out was because I knew he’d have you.”

Kraglin looks like he wants to say something, but he chews the inside of his cheek instead.

She tilts her head. “You still hate us.”

Kraglin’s jaw twitches, but he doesn’t answer.

A few of the Ravagers shift menacingly; Rocket looks around to see hands moving toward weapons.

“I saw you defer to Quill,” Ogord says, holding up a hand. The Ravagers all still on her command. “Has anything been made official?”

“No,” says Kraglin shortly. “But it will be. I don’t want it.”

Her face is a mask. “And widow’s rights?” she asks quietly.

Rocket hisses a breath before he can stop himself; Kraglin glances at him with narrowed eyes, but shakes his head.

“Wasn’t like that.”

“The hell it wasn’t,” she snaps. “He left Marty for you.”

That’s what gets Kraglin to look down. It’s like all the fight goes out of him. “Cap’n couldn’t have favorites,” he says dully. “We wasn’t ever together.”

Ogord is staring at him, and Rocket sees something like pity in her eyes.

“We got anymore shit to cover, or can we just go?” he snaps, jumping to Kraglin’s defense without really understanding why. “Because we’ve had a shitty couple of days, an’ the next couple ain’t lookin’ much better.”

Ogord’s dark eyes pin him in place, and there’s a second where they stare each other down. Rocket raises his chin a little, refusing to blink first.

Finally she nods. “Go. They’re your men and your crew. We’ll follow your lead.” She gives Kraglin a last glance. “And Obfonteri?”

“What?” he asks shortly.

“I’ll ask again when this is over.”

Kraglin bares his teeth at her and turns; Rocket has to jog to keep up with him as he stalks back into the M-ship.

“What the hell was that?” he snaps as he follows Kraglin up to the cockpit.

Kraglin doesn’t answer. He’s pale, going through the pre-launch checks by rote, a little too fast for proper safety.

Rocket lets him, eyeing the movements of his long-fingered hands on the controls. 

They launch without an issue, the stars opening up to them like old friends. The only home Rocket’s ever known, although it’s complicated by new resentment. Space kills, after all, and it took someone he—

Well. Someone he cared about. But Yondu’s still out there. Rocket knows what he saw. 

He’s never believed in anything before, but he believes in Yondu.

“Why did you want me to come with you?” he asks Kraglin after they’ve made it through their first twenty jumps. They’re cruising now, sailing past the nearest jump point to give themselves time to recover. 

Kraglin’s quiet for a bit. “Could use the company,” he finally says. “An’ you was there.”

Rocket studies him. “What she said,” he begins carefully.

“It don’t matter,” says Kraglin roughly.

“Who’s Marty then?”

Kraglin sighs. “Martinex T’Naga. Stakar’s first mate.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me, or were you gonna explain it?” Rocket crosses his arms and levels Kraglin with a look.

“Him an’ the cap’n used t’ be together.” Kraglin glares. “Long time ago.”

“Before you came along.”

“You think knowin’ this stuff’ll make it any better?” snaps Kraglin. “He’s gone.”

“I don’t get you.” Rocket narrows his eyes. 

“Nothin’ t’ get.” Kraglin looks ahead at the stars. 

“Why’d she think you were together then?”

“Because we wanted t’ be.” Kraglin’s voice cracks. He won’t look at Rocket. “If we’d stayed, there was a way we coulda done it. Taken it t’ Stakar an’ made things official. But we was exiles, an’ the Cap’n couldn’t just start fuckin’ his first mate.”

Now it’s Rocket’s turn to stare blankly at the stars. Something spasms in his chest, and he has to swallow down the scream building in his throat.

No wonder Yondu forgave Kraglin the minute he came crawling back with Groot.

Rocket thinks about what it cost Kraglin to listen when he told him to go, and how fast they turned the Quadrant around. He remembers gripping Kraglin’s sleeve as they hurried back, listening to Quill scream as Yondu died.

He’s breathing too fast; his mouth is open and panting, and Kraglin’s looking at him strangely.

“Hey, breathe,” he says hastily. “Don’t want ya t’ pass out or nothin’.”

Rocket takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. It kinda works; he’s still shaky, but one deep breath makes it easier to take another one, and then another. He times them with the whirring of his cybernetics, humming at a constant frequency under his skin. 

When he can speak again, he croaks, “thanks.”

Kraglin nods, looking back out the viewport.

After they’ve sat in silence a few minutes, Kraglin asks quietly, “why did _you_ wanna come along?”

Rocket clears his throat. “Why is a funeral so important anyway? I get that it means a lot to you, but incinerating your friends don’t make ‘em less dead.”

Kraglin gives him the out, which Rocket’s grateful for. “Ain’t about us. It’s for them.”

Rocket frowns. “How’s that?”

“Ya don’t leave your friends t’ wander the Void alone,” Kraglin says. There’s a weight to it, and it makes Rocket frown.

“What, like float there?”

“Like their _souls,_ dumbass,” snaps Kraglin. He gives Rocket a look like he thinks he’s being dense on purpose.

“And what the hell would I know about that?” Rocket scowls. 

“Everyone’s got a soul.”

“You know I was built in a lab, right? Fuck makes you think any of that shit applies to me?” Rocket doesn’t like this topic any better than the last one.

“You’re alive, ain’t ya?” Kraglin’s frowning at him now, and Rocket don’t care for it.

Rocket grunts, and Kraglin shakes his head.

“Everyone’s got a soul,” he repeats.

“So we’re what, rescuing your friends’ souls?” It sounds really stupid when Rocket says it out loud. “For what? What’s supposed to happen to ‘em anyway? They’re dead.”

He feels like an asshole when he sees Kraglin’s hands spasm on the controls.

“They’ll be in the stars,” Kraglin finally says, in a small voice. “Lotta people got a lotta different ideas about what happens after that.”

Rocket looks at him. He thinks about the arrow, and the colors, and okay, there was something powerful about it. He can admit that. He just don’t know what. “So what do you think?”

“Dunno.” Rocket’s feeling nice, so he ignores Kraglin’s little sniffle. “Somethin’ nice, I hope.”

Rocket remembers the last guy that got spaced, the one crying for Yondu to help. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I hope so too.”

—

They do another fifty jumps before they call it a day. Kraglin sets the course, and for once Rocket doesn’t feel that twitchy about letting someone else pilot. Something about Kraglin is soothing in a way Quill and the others aren’t.

Maybe it’s the fact that Kraglin’s used to acting the sidekick. Rocket can’t say he minds being asked about their course heading, as if Kraglin don’t quite know how to be without letting someone else take the lead. Rocket figures it’s habit, but it suits him fine.

They eat the rations Ogord’s stocked for them; maybe Kraglin tastes his, but Rocket just chews mechanically. After their conversation earlier, there’s not much to say.

At least, there’s not much they’re willing to say. Rocket studies Kraglin across the narrow table, sliding the pieces of information around until things start to fall into place.

Kraglin was pissy about Quill, which means he’s always known about Yondu’s soft spot for the kid. He didn’t act like a hero during the mutiny, even though it meant letting Yondu and his friends down. Stood there and kept his head down and lived, when no one else did.

“Did you have a plan the whole time to get him out?” 

Kraglin squeezes his eyes shut, and Rocket feels like a dick all over again. But he’s gotta know.

“Once I got rid o’ Nebula, yeah,” he whispers. “Couldn’t do nothin’ with her around.”

Rocket nods slowly. Makes sense, and Kraglin’s clearly not stupid. Which leads him to his next question: “Did you expect him to kill you?”

A fist slams loudly on the tabletop, and when Rocket meets Kraglin’s eyes they’re flashing like a badly wired bomb.

“ _Shut up,_ ” he hisses, and the venom in his voice makes Rocket actually listen. “You done nothin’ but poke me since we got here, an’ I’m _tired_.” His voice breaks, and he hangs his head. “I’m so fuckin’ tired.”

Rocket stays frozen, watching him cautiously in case he blows. He slots another piece into place. “So that’s a no.”

“Don’t you know when t’ shut up?” asks Kraglin miserably.

“Nah, not really. Besides, I’m tryin’ to figure you out.”

“Ya said that. There ain’t much t’ figure.” Kraglin picks his head up, and Rocket’s got manners, so he don’t mention the tears streaked down his cheeks.

“I don’t think that’s true,” says Rocket after a minute. “If he cared about you so much, then there’s gotta be something special about you. Fuck if I know what,” he adds, just to be an ass.

Kraglin stares blankly at him. “Shit,” he mutters, looking away. “He was right.”

“Huh?” Rocket’s ears go back as he stares suspiciously at Kraglin.

“You an’ him’s the same,” Kraglin mumbles, looking unhappy about it.

Rocket swallows loudly. That don’t sound like a compliment, but he can’t help but glow a little at the thought of other people seeing the similarities between them.

Kraglin shakes his head. “I ain’t buggin’ you about your reasons for bein’ here,” he says after a bit. “Don’t have to.”

Rocket gives him a sharp look. “Let me guess, you’re gonna start,” he says sourly.

Kraglin just sighs. “Nah.” He gets to his feet. “I never liked pokin’ at people’s sore spots. That was the Cap’n’s thing. I’m goin’ t’ bed.”

And he leaves Rocket alone in the galley.

—

Rocket hesitates before opening the bathroom door. He’s brushed his teeth, smoothed his fur, avoided his own reflection in the mirror as long as he possibly can, and now he’s gotta go crawl into the bunk across from Kraglin’s. 

He squares his shoulders and steps out.

The sleeping area’s not totally separate from the rest of the ship, and as such it never gets dark. Kraglin’s outline is visible in the dim light.

He’s weeping.

Rocket stops dead.

It’s quiet; only the sound of Kraglin’s hitched breaths around the hand he’s shoved in his mouth give him away. His whole body shakes with the force of it, shuddering like a twitchy plant in a windstorm. 

And shit, Rocket can’t handle this. He doesn’t know what to do with his own grief, much less anyone else’s. He takes a step back, overwhelmed with the feeling that this ain’t something he should be seeing.

The scrape of his claws on metal sounds painfully loud. Kraglin freezes, and Rocket kicks himself for being so careless.

“Uhh, hey,” he says awkwardly. “I can, uh, go. If you want. Sorry.”

Kraglin swallows audibly. “Nah. I—I can go. You can sleep, if ya want.” He sits up and wipes his face.

There’s something incredibly sad about him; Rocket bites his lip at the thought of him rattling around the ship like a ghost. “You don’t have to go anywhere,” he says. “Didn’t you bring me along so you wouldn’t have to be alone?”

Silence answers him, and when he looks up Kraglin’s staring at him. 

“What?” Rocket shifts uncomfortably.

“You’d’ve been the one t’ watch out for,” Kraglin says in a soft voice. “If he’d lived.”

Rocket breathes in sharply as the blow lands somewhere behind his ribs.

“Known him since I was seventeen, an’ I never seen him take t’ nobody like he took t’ you,” Kraglin continues. There’s something light and dreamlike about his voice, like he’s trying to distance himself from what he’s saying. 

“I don’t wanna hear this.” Rocket sounds pretty distant himself, with the roaring in his ears.

“Bet you’d have been the next one I had t’ have afterward.” Kraglin sits forward, slow and predatory.

Rocket takes a step back, feeling his breath speed up. “Stop it.”

“He’d’ve taken you home, way he looked at ya. Like you was th’ answer to shit he didn’t know he was lookin’ for. He never looked at me like that, not even when he let me fuck him.”

“Shut up!” Rocket yells, grabbing at the fur on his face. It don’t hurt nearly as bad as the arrows Kraglin keeps aiming at his heart.

“Bet he woulda sweet talked ya until you forgot you look like an animal,” Kraglin continues relentlessly. “Fucked you slow an’ sweet until ya couldn’t care about nobody but him.”

“Why are you doing this?” asks Rocket desperately. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Kraglin laughs, and it sends chills down Rocket’s spine. “You came here ‘cause you wanted what was mine. Am I supposed t’ thank you for that?”

Rocket stares at him, horrified. 

“Besides, I thought you wanted t’ figure me out. Well, guess what? I ain’t nice.” Kraglin levels him with a look. His eyes are still puffy and red. “I’m as greedy an’ selfish as you are.”

Rocket meets those red, swollen eyes for a second. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up, and he’d run, only something tells him Kraglin would chase him.

That terrifies him, so he stands his ground. “So where the hell does that leave us?” he asks.

Kraglin sags like his strings have been cut. “I dunno,” he mutters as he lays back, hands over his face.

Rocket swallows, not sure if it’s safe to move yet. Being alone with Kraglin for the next week while they take the jumps slow suddenly seems like a terrible idea.

“I guess there’s nothin’ t’ fight over no more, is there?” Kraglin’s voice floats over softly from his bunk. That sadness is back; heavy and oppressive and weighing him down.

Rocket ain’t sure he likes that any better than the sadism. “Guess not.” He goes slow when he climbs into his own bunk, one eye still warily fixed on Kraglin.

Kraglin sighs heavily and mutters “ _fuck._ ” 

Well. That’s one way of putting it.

—

Rocket’s groggy the next morning as a result of not wanting to sleep next to a psycho. He finally managed a few hours after Kraglin got up to go chart the day’s jump schedule; he hasn’t been back to the sleeping area since.

Rocket stares at the ceiling and goes over last night again. It ain’t what Kraglin said that’s got him so rattled, it was the way he acted. Like a switch got flipped and he turned into something else.

Or maybe that’s who he really is under his goofy exterior. Maybe that’s what Yondu liked about him. Maybe he got off on the snarling and the menacing act. Rocket will never know.

He finally can’t put it off and rolls out of bed. After taking a piss, he heads up to the cockpit and pauses before sitting next to Kraglin.

Kraglin nods, but doesn’t look over.

Rocket swallows. “About last night.”

“Won’t happen again.” Kraglin studies the navs.

Not what Rocket was expecting. He tilts his head, watching Kraglin intently. “You know,” he tries, “it ain’t like I was actually competition.”

Kraglin sighs. “Yeah, you were,” he says. “I was there.”

And that makes Rocket’s throat tighten up again, so he looks out at the stars while he fights back tears. He’s never gonna know if he was really competition. 

“I shouldn’t’ve said he was mine,” Kraglin adds after a minute. “He wasn’t, not really.”

“Neither of us got to have him,” Rocket chokes, finally giving in and letting the tears fall. It’s exhausting to fight, and he’s so tired.

“No.” Kraglin’s voice cracks. “We didn’t.”

They watch the stars.

The wave passes.

Rocket takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes. “So how many jumps have we done today?”

“Just twenty-five. Was gonna do twenty-five more in a couple hours.” Kraglin glances at him. Looking for confirmation.

Rocket can’t figure him out. He narrows his eyes a little, and shrugs. “Sure,” he says, “let’s do that.”

—

It feels like they’re both being extra careful today. Careful to keep the lid on things, to not think about Yondu.

Rocket can’t think of anything _but_ Yondu. It’s horrible; he wants to put it behind him, but there are too many feelings that keep bubbling up. Like a fucking turd that won’t flush.

He’s obsessing over Kraglin’s words, and the way they make him go hot all over, and then cold. He’s not sure what’s worse, thinking he never had a chance, or that he did and it got snatched away from him before he could take it.

He wonders how Kraglin would have handled it if Yondu _did_ want Rocket. The thought scares him a little, and that bothers him too. Rocket ain’t used to being scared of anything.

Now, usually Rocket’s a frigging master at bottling stuff up. He handled it fine after Groot died, and he’s gonna be fine after Yondu. It’s just that he feels like all his insides have been scraped out, okay? He’s raw and empty and everything hurts. He’s survived worse. No reason why this should be harder than anything he’s been through before.

He breaks down again in the bathroom at lunch, clutching the sides of the sink and whispering “oh god, oh god” over and over until the tears stop and he can breathe again without sobbing.

Kraglin doesn’t say anything when he comes out. Just hands him a protein pack and goes back to eating.

It tastes like nothing, but Rocket eats anyway. He watches Kraglin chew mechanically and wonders how they’re ever gonna feel alive again.

The jumps go smoothly enough that Rocket comms Ogord to tell her they’re gonna do another thirty to get ahead of schedule. He waits for confirmation and plots the course.

Kraglin follows orders beautifully. Rocket just wishes Quill was this compliant. They never would have lost their ship if he’d just sat back like Kraglin does and let Rocket call the shots.

“Pete was always meant t’ be a leader,” Kraglin tells him dully when he mentions it. “‘S why him an’ the Cap’n fought so much.”

Rocket looks away, because _he_ ain’t meant to be a follower, and part of him still burns that it’s Quill and not him who gets the unwavering support of the whole group.

“I hate him sometimes,” he admits quietly.

Kraglin looks at him. “Me too.”

The silence after that is a little less strained than before.

—

One hundred and ten jumps in a day isn’t bad. Rocket feels pretty okay as he plots the overnight course and checks in with Ogord’s ship. She’s keeping her distance, which Rocket appreciates. He’s not sure he could handle whatever weird Ravager stuff she’s got going on. And he knows Kraglin manages to always be somewhere else when he comms her.

“You gonna tell me what your beef with the other Ravagers is?” he asks that night as they’re both climbing into bed.

Kraglin pauses with his jumpsuit halfway down his thighs. “They exiled him,” he says with a shrug.

Rocket kicks his feet absently. “He said they were the only family he ever had.”

“That’s bullshit.” Kraglin turns around, looking ferocious even in his undershirt and ratty briefs. “He had me.”

Rocket meets his eyes. “Mutiny.”

Kraglin sits down heavily, resting his elbows on his knees. He buries his head in his hands and shakes it. 

Rocket sighs. “Sorry “ he mutters. “I just meant he didn’t think he had you when he said it. He was wrong.”

“Goddammit.” Kraglin whispers it under his breath.

There’s a long pause where Rocket casts around for what to say to make it better. “You came back,” he settles on. It seems weak to him.

A shudder runs through Kraglin’s skinny form. “It’s my fault,” he whispers. “All of it’s my fault. We coulda had the crew with us when we took him on, an’ then none o’ this woulda happened.”

“Ain’t your fault.” Rocket looks away. “Or if it is, then it’s my fault too.”

“You didn’t know ya would need another space suit,” says Kraglin softly.

“No, but you never would’ve had to get involved if I hadn’t stolen those batteries. We’d have had the ship if the Sovereign hadn’t come after us.” 

Kraglin sighs. “Fuckin’ Pete,” he mutters. “We shoulda told him about Ego.”

“Might not have been a bad idea,” says Rocket lightly. “I’m guessing Yondu thought he’d go tearing after his old man and end up dead if you said anything?”

“Pretty much.” Kraglin huffs a laugh. “I know it ain’t the kid’s fault, but—I get so fuckin’ _angry_ thinkin’ about everything we did for him, an’ he never appreciated a damn bit of it.”

“Quill’s weird,” Rocket muses. “He don’t pick up on the subtle shit like we do.”

“Shouldn’t _have_ t’ tell someone ya love ‘em,” mutters Kraglin sullenly. “Means ya didn’t show it enough.”

Hard to argue with that, Rocket thinks later as he lays awake listening to Kraglin’s wheezing snores. He wonders what Yondu would say about love. Only time he ever mentioned it was when he pointed out how much it scared Rocket.

Rocket throws an arm over his face, trying to hold back the wave as he remembers the way Yondu looked at him that last time. Hopeless and determined and so fucking beautiful.

He’s never known anyone like Yondu. Never will again. And all of a sudden he’s furious, tearing the blankets off himself and moving, unable to sit still in the face of a universe that was cruel enough to give him Yondu and then snatch him away so quickly.

He goes up to the cockpit, staring hard at the stars as he wonders whether Yondu’s really out there. He can see why people like the idea; it’s comforting, the idea that you’ll see someone again. 

Rocket doesn’t know what to think. The more time that passes since he saw the arrow, the more doubts claw at him. If there’s anything left of Yondu, it’s too far away to do him any good.

“God damn you,” he whispers anyway. “Damn you. What the hell am I supposed to do with this shit you left me?”

The stars are unhelpful.

Rocket leans both hands against the smooth viewscreen, closing his eyes and letting the tears fall without a fight.

He can’t let himself think about love; it’s one of those things that was never for him. Real people fell in love, not cyborg animal freaks like Rocket. Hell, for the most part he isn’t even attracted to the people he sees. Sure, the other Guardians are good looking, but Rocket only notices them because they’re always around. It ain’t like he doesn’t _see,_ he just doesn’t bother.

Who’d wanna fuck Rocket? _Rocket_ doesn’t wanna fuck Rocket.

Before Kraglin and that one big guy in the seventh prison he’d broken out of, no one had ever even suggested it. And after he’d killed that big guy, he’d always sort of figured the type who’d be into him was the type he oughta avoid.

But Yondu...Rocket would have made an exception for Yondu.

He rests his forehead against the glass and breathes.

“You okay?” Kraglin’s voice makes him jump. “Thought you was gonna come back, but then ya didn’t.”

Rocket sighs. “Just...” He waves a hand vaguely.

“Yeah.” There’s no way Kraglin oughta be that quiet; only the heat of his body lets Rocket know he’s behind him. He sits down and stretches his long legs out in front of him, just to Rocket’s right.

“Why did you say all that shit last night?” Rocket asks quietly. “Did you mean it?”

“Which part?”

“Any of it.” Rocket studies a nebula out the window. “It was cruel.”

“Yeah.” Kraglin sighs. “It was. Shouldn’t have done that.”

“But did you mean it?”

Kraglin’s quiet. “Yeah,” he finally says.

Rocket closes his eyes. “What would you have done? If...all that shit you said really happened.”

“Whatever I had to t’ keep him.” When Rocket opens his eyes, Kraglin’s looking out at the stars thoughtfully. “You wasn’t like all the others.”

“So you don’t know,” says Rocket flatly. 

“Nope. Coulda gone a couple ways, I guess.” Kraglin shrugs.

“Tell me.” Rocket’s looking out at the stars now too. He wonders if whatever’s left of Yondu is watching. He wonders if he’d know the difference.

Kraglin snorts. “You don’t wanna hear this.”

Rocket don’t care for having his own words thrown back at him. “Maybe I do. Would you kill me?”

“Maybe. But that’d make him hate me, an’ I...” Kraglin trails off, swallowing hard. “That ain’t somethin’ I could live with.”

“So what, you’d break us up? If we were—” Damn, it hurts to even think about. Rocket pokes at it like a bruise, wondering why he craves it in spite of the pain.

“If he took up with you, I’d have t’ fuck you,” says Kraglin.

Rocket slowly turns to stare at him. “Yeah,” he says after a minute, “that’s what I thought you said. Wanna run that past me again?”

Kraglin snorts. “Ya know I never talked about this t’ no one, right?” He glances at Rocket with a sad little smile. “Folks knew, but everyone pretended not to.”

Rocket quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see why.”

“I couldn’t have him,” says Kraglin softly. “So I had everyone who did.”

Rocket’s chest tightens, sharply enough that he can’t breathe for a minute. “Kraglin—”

“So if I thought he was runnin’ around with you?” Kraglin nods. “Yeah, I woulda fucked you.”

“So...” Rocket casts around for the right words. “When was the last time you actually screwed around with someone _you_ wanted?”

“Last time he let me touch him,” Kraglin says, and Rocket snaps his mouth shut.

He’s looking at the only person who understands what he’s going through, and the realization hits him like a shock wave. Quill loved Yondu, but not like Rocket and Kraglin loved Yondu. He might be able to understand the feeling of missing his chance, but that only carries so far. 

Rocket’s only felt this exposed once before, and he gets the same hot-cold rush through his veins now as he did when Yondu called them the same.

Kraglin was there then, too. He saw Yondu peel Rocket like a ripe fruit and then tuck him back somewhere safe after he’d opened him up.

So it seems easy, somehow, to step closer to Kraglin and press against his side. Rocket has no idea what he’s doing, only that he wants to be close to the person who was close to Yondu.

Kraglin slips an arm around his waist.

They watch the stars.

—

When they go back to their bunks, Rocket takes Kraglin’s unspoken invitation to crawl in with him. It’s like a wall’s come down, and now that they realize they’re not alone with this they can’t get close enough. A pair of wiry arms wraps around him and pulls him against Kraglin’s chest, and he doesn’t fight it.

Kraglin stinks, like stress and salty tears and general body odor. Rocket doesn’t mind it as much as he probably should. It’s comforting, in a weird way. Reminds him that Kraglin’s real. He wiggles around, getting comfortable, and closes his eyes.

He’s never been held before.

Not like this, anyway. Groot’s grabbed him before, when they were running, and he remembers waking up in Quill’s arms in those horrible last moments before Ronan’s ship went down, and Drax’s hand stroking his head, but this is new. 

Carefully, he rests his chin on Kraglin’s arm, afraid to talk and shatter whatever is happening between them right now. 

Kraglin’s hand comes to rest on his back, moving when he tenses and finally just stroking up and down, real light. Rocket knows he can feel his hardware through the suit because he begins avoiding it after a few experimental passes. That’s when Rocket finally relaxes and lets himself drift.

He wakes up disoriented, with weird flashes of dreams chasing behind his eyes. He thinks he saw Yondu, but dreams suck like that. His have always been weird and fragmented anyway, skipping between methodical and feral, and he hates them.

Kraglin snores under him, oblivious.

This might be the first decent sleep either of them have had in ages. Rocket has no idea what Kraglin and the others were up to before the shitshow on Berhert, but Rocket’s been sleep deprived for damn near a week. Rocket settles, letting himself rise and fall to the rhythm of Kraglin’s wheezing snores. 

He’s almost drifted off again when Kraglin snorts himself awake. Rocket tries not to snicker, but he ain’t very good at it because Kraglin pokes his side.

“Shut up,” he says good naturedly, and rests an arm behind his head.

Rocket studies him, laying his chin on Kraglin’s thin chest. “That’s dedication, you know,” he says.

“Huh?”

“Fucking me to keep Yondu. Takes some serious devotion to do that.” Rocket yawns, real casual.

Kraglin frowns, looking puzzled for a second before he blinks. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Oh, I dunno about that.”

Rocket looks at him then, and he’s scared of how much shows on his face.

“You’re awful pretty when ya ain’t bein’ a dick,” says Kraglin softly. He reaches up to stroke Rocket’s cheek. “All that soft fur an’ those big brown eyes.”

Rocket’s been called a lot of things, but pretty ain’t one of them. He squirms, avoiding Kraglin’s eye as he tries to decide if he likes it or not. “I look like an animal,” he mumbles. Maybe if he says it first, it won’t be as bad when Kraglin points it out again.

“But ya ain’t one.”

Rocket looks up.

Kraglin’s watching him, mouth turned down a little like he’s unhappy. “You ain’t an animal,” he repeats softly.

Rocket leans into the hand cupping his cheek. “I dunno what I am.”

“I don’t care what you are.” Kraglin has a stubborn set to his jaw. “What you are is smart enough t’ see him for who he really was. Weren't a lotta folks who could.”

Rocket closes his eyes. “Kraglin—”

“Maybe he woulda tried bringin’ you home t’ me,” says Kraglin. “Since he knew you was the same.” 

And that makes Rocket’s eyes pop open. He can feel his jaw drop. 

Kraglin gives him a sad, crooked smile. “Maybe it coulda been the three of us.”

“Fuck,” Rocket whispers, feeling his eyes start to burn again. He can picture it, the three of them tangled together, Yondu’s braying laughter and Kraglin’s easy smiles. For a second it feels so real he can touch it, and then he’s back to sniffling into Kraglin’s shirt.

Kraglin’s arms curl around him and pull him close, and Rocket knows it’s too soon for what he’d been working up the nerve to try.

Later, when the wounds aren’t so fresh. 

—

It takes them a few more days to get to the _Eclector’s_ last coordinates. Debris is still floating everywhere, scattered across the better part of a parsec, and Rocket looks at Kraglin to see how he’ll react to the pieces of his home floating aimlessly.

He’s pale, but that ain’t unusual for him.

“I’ll start scanning for organic matter,” says Rocket quietly.

He leaves Kraglin to his thoughts and starts the scan. Honestly, he’s a little worried about what he’s gonna find. There’s a chance these guys were blasted to pieces with the ship, and he ain’t sure what Kraglin will do if there’s no bodies. Or parts of bodies.

He shudders a little, thinking about it. That’s when the scans start returning coordinates. 

Rocket stares down at the results. Thirty-five. Thirty-five distinct biosignatures located within three kliks of their present location. Some of them are in pieces, like he’d been afraid of.

“How many of your guys did they execute again?” he asks in a low voice, even though he knows, he _knows_ it was more than thirty-five.

“Forty-eight,” Kraglin tells him. He’s bracing himself, Rocket can tell.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. We got thirty-five here.” Rocket tried to deliver the news gently. He’s no good at it, but he tries.

Kraglin squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck,” he whispers with feeling.

Rocket looks down.

“Okay.” Kraglin takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s get started.”

Rocket pilots them closer, and for the next three hours, they pull the corpses out of the black with their tractor beam. They don’t talk. Even Rocket can tell there’s something sacred about what they’re doing.

It’s not until after the last body is pulled in that he sits back and looks at Kraglin. “So now what?”

“Now we go down there.” Kraglin’s paler than usual, and his throat bobs when he swallows. “Put ‘em back together, ones what need it.”

Rocket winces. “Yeah, okay.” He pauses. “You want the help?”

“Could use the company.” Kraglin gives him a tired smile.

“Okay then.” Rocket slips out of his seat and follows Kraglin down to the hold.

It looks like a nightmare; there are bodies piled up as the tractor beam left them, some more thawed than others. All of them discolored and frosted, and for a second Rocket can’t breathe, seeing Yondu all over again.

Kraglin’s hand on his shoulder steadies him; when he looks up, there’s a determined set to his jaw. 

“We owe ‘em this,” he says firmly.

So Rocket follows him, straightening limbs and folding hands and closing eyes where he can. The pieces he scans and matches up, keeping as much of the poor bastards together as he can. It’s gruesome work, and it takes forever, but in time he and Kraglin have all the men who died for Yondu lined up on their backs. Their arms are crossed over their chests, just like Yondu’s were for his funeral. 

Yondu’s funeral seems both forever ago and not; Rocket can’t remember time ever twisting in on itself like this before. It’s weird and he don’t like it.

Kraglin looks drained; his pallor accentuates the bags under his eyes, and his little chin wobbles a bit when he pushes back the long hair of one of the Ravagers. When Rocket looks closer, he recognizes the face; it’s the last one, the Krylorian who was crying for Yondu to help him.

“Oblo,” Kraglin answers his unspoken question. “My best friend.”

Rocket thinks of Quill and has to look away. “Shit.”

Kraglin blinks back tears. “We was close t’ the same age, me an’ Oblo. Hung out a lot. Pete used t’ follow us around annoyin’ the shit outta us.”

Rocket nods, not sure what to say. 

“Didn’t deserve this.” Kraglin’s hands clench. Suddenly he’s up and moving, punching the wall over and over until it’s smeared blue and his knuckles are wrecked. 

“Kraglin!” Rocket scampers over. “Dude, what the hell—”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Kraglin screams. It’s raw, like the feeling Rocket’s had somewhere in his throat since he flew away from Yondu on Ego’s planet. Kraglin takes a shaky step back and sits down heavily, staring at his hands. “ _Fuck,_ ” he whispers again.

Rocket hops up beside him and doesn’t say anything.

Kraglin takes a slow breath. “I ain’t sad about Half-Nut or Gef or Retch,” he says after a bit. “They was always assholes. Thought Vorker was my friend, but he fell in with Taserface an’ the rest right away.” He looks at Rocket. “All my friends are here.”

“You still got Quill,” says Rocket carefully.

Kraglin sighs. “Yeah. Ain’t that a twist.”

Rocket leans against his side. “Come on. Let’s get your hands fixed. Ain’t good for you to have ‘em open an’ bleeding out here.”

“Yeah.” Kraglin’s voice is small. “Guess you’re right.”

—

There’s only one bathroom on the ship, and after a few moments of staring at the shower while they’re in there regenerating the skin on Kraglin’s hands, they meet each other’s eyes.

For all they’ve danced around the subject of sex, this is the twenty-fourth least sexy time Rocket’s gotten naked around a new person for the first time (prison showers are not sexy no matter what pornos would claim; Rocket can verify). He’s exhausted for one, and for another he’s way too aware of all Kraglin’s dead friends outside the door. He figures Kraglin feels the same way, judging from the mechanical way he steps out of his suit and kicks off his underwear.

Rocket deliberately doesn’t make a face at the smell of them; they’ve all been short on laundry since this shit went down.

Kraglin is skinny and rangy looking, with rounded shoulders and a thin, hairy chest. His tattoos go all down one arm and up the side of his neck, and someday Rocket will ask about them. He’s got knobby knees and his legs are too long and really, the only thing about him that might be considered attractive is his dick. He really shouldn’t do much for Rocket, who has no idea why the hell he’s even into humies in the first place, but the sight of him makes Rocket feel warm and sorta fuzzy.

The water is warm when they step in, and Kraglin’s shoulders slump. He stands with his face turned up under the spray for a long time, and Rocket doesn’t even complain that none of the water reaches him. Eventually Kraglin comes back to himself and makes room, anyway.

Rocket gives into instinct and rubs his cheek against a hairy thigh before giving Kraglin a pat and grabbing the soap. When he turns back, Kraglin’s watching him with a new, warm expression.

“‘M glad ya came with me, Rocket,” is all he says.

But Rocket hears more than that, and when he smiles crookedly back, he knows Kraglin knows it too.

—

Rocket notices the arrow later that night, when they’re tucked in Kraglin’s bunk waiting for the Quadrant. Ogord’s been comming them regularly to keep them in the loop, but it’s still gonna take about forty-six hours for the others to arrive.

Then they can hold the funeral rites.

“You know,” Rocket says quietly, “when I grabbed it I genuinely thought he’d need it back.”

Kraglin’s breath catches. “That was good o’ ya,” he tells Rocket, rubbing his thumb across Rocket’s ear.

Rocket pushes into his hand. “I gave it to Quill.”

“An’ he gave it t’ me.” Kraglin tweaks his ear, which Rocket pretends not to like. “That a problem?”

“Nah. If I’d known I probably woulda given it to you in the first place.”

Kraglin’s cheek mashes the fur flat to the top of Rocket’s head. “Thanks,” he whispers.

Rocket closes his eyes. “We should sleep,” he mutters. “Don’t got that much time before we’re gonna be busy, right? With all the rituals and shit?”

“Ain’t shit,” Kraglin mumbles.

“You know what I meant. The rites. Whatever. Moving the bodies again.”

“Yeah,” sighs Kraglin. “‘S gonna be busy.”

Rocket’s quiet, shivering a little when Kraglin’s breath tickles his fur. He likes the way Kraglin’s heartbeat feels under him.

And the way Kraglin’s hand slides lower on his back, teasing the base of his tail along the edge of his suit. “Kraglin,” he whispers.

“Can’t sleep just yet,” Kraglin whispers back; there’s something dark and husky about his voice that makes Rocket go all shivery inside.

“That right?” he asks as he lifts his tail, swallowing at the way Kraglin curls his hand around it.

Kraglin presses his lips to the top of Rocket’s head. “You tired?” He lets Rocket’s tail slip through his hand, which sends shivers all up Rocket’s spine.

Rocket swallows. “Guess I ain’t quite ready to sleep yet either,” he says shakily.

Kraglin huffs a little laugh. “You wanna know a secret?” he whispers. “Somethin’ I never told nobody else?”

“What?” Rocket arches his back when Kraglin pets him again through his suit.

“His whole alpha male thing was an act,” Kraglin tells him softly. “All that buyin’ three bots an’ fuckin’ ‘em where we could see? Total bullshit.” He shakes his head fondly. “Was all just t’ impress the crew. He really liked gettin’ held down an’ fucked sweet.”

Rocket forgets to breathe. “He did?” 

“Yeah.” They pull apart enough that Kraglin can look at him. “Greediest little cockslut I ever met. He loved it when I played with his asshole.”

The images racing through Rocket’s mind make him ache; he can picture it so clearly, Yondu going soft and pliant, away from all those jerks who needed him to be captain. Letting himself take what he needed from Kraglin. Just Kraglin.

“We woulda been real good to him,” he manages to choke out around the tightness in his throat.

Kraglin pulls him in close again, letting Rocket snuffle into his neck. “‘Course we would’ve.” His voice sounds thick, but he doesn’t stop talking. “Don’t think I ain’t noticed that long pink tongue o’ yours. An’ don’t think he didn’t notice it too. You could make a man feel awful good with that.”

Rocket shivers. He’s never given it much thought, but hey, he knows the principles of cocksucking as well as anyone who’s done prison time.

“I’ve never done it before,” he confesses, feeling kind of stupid. Ain’t his fault no one wants him; Rocket’s spent years suppressing his libido to keep himself from being disappointed.

“You wanna?” Kraglin goes real still when he asks, like he’s afraid of Rocket’s answer.

Rocket thinks about it. Thinks about nuzzling the front of Kraglin’s underwear until his cock stiffens and the smell of him is all Rocket knows. Thinks about peeling the rank fabric off him and getting his mouth and hands on that pretty dick, and realizes his mouth is actually watering. “Shit,” he whispers. “Yes.”

Kraglin’s exhale is a little too shaky for them to pretend he’s not crying a little, but Rocket’s nice enough not to say anything. He plucks at the back of Rocket’s suit. “Go on, take that off. Wanna feel ya.”

Rocket sits up, nerves making him twitchy. He undoes the clasps on his suit and then unzips it and tosses it off the side of the bed. He’s not sure how good Kraglin’s low light vision is, but he hopes it’s not great. Being naked don’t make him feel sexy.

A long-fingered hand curls around his waist and then Kraglin moves, rolling onto his side and taking Rocket with him. He ain’t expecting it, and Rocket bares his teeth before he can stop himself.

“Easy,” murmurs Kraglin, “I got ya.” He smooths a hand over Rocket’s cheek. “Gonna treat you nice, just like he woulda.” And that hand slides down Rocket’s belly to play between his legs. Long fingers touch the sheath where he keeps his cock and it makes him jump; he’s nervous and sensitive, and Kraglin strokes callused fingertips around the sheath in little circles until Rocket’s dick slides out.

“There you are,” Kraglin whispers. “Feels good, don’t it?”

“Yeah,” Rocket gasps. He squeezes his eyes shut as Kraglin touches him. It’s more intense than he’d imagined, when he’d bothered imagining it at all. The light brushes of Kraglin’s fingertips over his cock are driving him nuts. “Kraglin—” 

“I wanna get my mouth on you,” Kraglin says softly. “Show you how good it is. He always had the prettiest mouth, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Rocket moans, twitching his hips up. It’s true; Yondu had a gorgeous mouth in spite of his teeth. “Fuck, Kraglin, did he ever suck your dick?”

“Yeah.” Kraglin scoots down the bed, nuzzling at Rocket’s belly. “He was real good at it, too. Wanna show ya.”

“ _Shit,_ ” Rocket moans when Kraglin wraps his lips around his cock. His mouth falls open and he pushes himself up on his elbows to watch. 

Kraglin bobs his head, eyes closed and a blissed-out look on his face. He pulls off for a second to swirl his tongue around the head of Rocket’s cock, and then he sinks back down with a hungry noise that makes Rocket’s thighs shake.

“Oh god,” he whispers, falling back. Somehow he wasn’t prepared for the sounds; filthy, wet noises as Kraglin sucks him, or the eager little grunts he makes around Rocket’s dick. It’s like he needs this, and Rocket wouldn’t deny him even if he wanted to. 

“Like how you taste,” Kraglin whispers roughly. “Taste real good. Nice an’ wet for me. C’mon, lemme hear ya. Moan for me, Rocket.” He laps at the tip of Rocket’s cock, which gets him his moan. “Yeah, that’s it. Get loud for me.” And he slurps Rocket’s dick into his mouth again.

It seems kinda disrespectful to have loud sex with all Kraglin’s dead crew in the hold, but what the fuck does Rocket know? And anyway, it’s not like he can keep quiet with the way Kraglin’s going to town on him. He’ll be lucky if he can last five minutes without coming down his throat.

“Kraglin,” he gasps, “don’t you want me to—?”

Kraglin pulls back. “Wasn’t gonna make ya,” he says in a raspy voice.

“Wanna do something for us both,” Rocket tells him. Taking turns is all fine, but he wants to feel Kraglin against him while he shakes apart.

Kraglin blinks, looking between Rocket’s dick and his face like he ain’t sure he wants to give up sucking on Rocket’s cock. 

And shit, that makes his dick twitch, but he holds out, crossing his arms and giving Kraglin a stubborn look.

Finally Kraglin relents. “Okay.” He crawls back up until he’s looming over Rocket, and Rocket can look down to see the front of his nasty briefs tented. “‘M used t’ him bein’ more passive.”

Rocket swallows. “Are you disappointed?” He don’t like how small his voice is.

“Nah.” Kraglin bends down and hesitates, just a beat, before swiping his tongue across Rocket’s lips. 

It makes him jerk back. “What the hell?”

Kraglin blinks. “Don’t you like kissin’?” he asks, looking a little crestfallen.

“Uhhh...” Rocket licks his lips with a thoughtful frown. “I never actually done it before.”

Kraglin’s shoulders relax a little. “Oh.” He pauses. “Guess I oughta do it right then.”

Rocket blinks up at him as he cups Rocket’s cheek and leans in, closing his eyes and brushing his lips back and forth over Rocket’s. It’s kinda nice, all things considered. Rocket parts his lips a little, and shivers when Kraglin licks his mouth again.

“Mouths ain’t quite shaped right,” Rocket whispers.

“We’re doin’ okay,” Kraglin whispers back, and kisses him again.

From there it makes sense for Rocket to arch his hips and rub against Kraglin’s belly. Feels good, all that sweaty skin and coarse hair grinding over his cock. 

“Here,” Kraglin whispers, and scoots up further so his cock lines up with Rocket’s. He shoves his underwear down impatiently and then dips his pelvis so their dicks rub together. “How’s that?”

Rocket groans, twisting the sheets in his hands as Kraglin does it again. After a few more teasing passes, Kraglin reaches down and wraps his hand around both their dicks. The friction makes Rocket gasp, humping into Kraglin’s fist thoughtlessly as Kraglin jerks them both off. Kraglin’s bigger body covers him, and he’s all Rocket can smell and feel, and he can taste him when he gasps an open-mouthed breath, and it’s all too much and he comes with a whimper.

“Shit,” Kraglin pants, his chest heaving against Rocket’s face. He jerks his hips gracelessly a few times and follows Rocket over, coming all over his hand with a soft groan.

He flops onto his side after, breathing hard.

And Rocket stares at the ceiling, huffing the scent of sweat and come through his open mouth. He just had sex. With an actual, willing person. 

He never thought he’d get to have that. It’s pretty nice, really, and now that he’s had it he gets why people are so weird about getting more of it. Sure, coming feels great, but it’s more than that. It’s the idea that someone wants you, sees you and still wants to rub their junk against yours. 

Rocket ain’t felt wanted more than a handful of times in his life. Those memories are burned into him, and he keeps them locked tight inside for when things get bad and he needs the reminder. But damn if he’s not scared of getting used to the feeling, because he thinks the only thing worse than never having something is having it and losing it.

Like Yondu.

This should have happened with Yondu.

The ceiling blurs above him as he chokes back a sob, and by the time Kraglin catches his breath Rocket’s got his hands over his face.

“Oh, Rocket.” Kraglin says his name way too sweetly. His voice is thick, and Rocket thinks he knows too, that this should have been Yondu’s, that he took it because Yondu isn’t here to do it himself. Maybe they’re always gonna be a cheap imitation.

“Is that what you think?” asks Kraglin suddenly, and shit, Rocket didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Am I wrong?” he asks, not liking how his voice cracks. “We’re two-thirds of what we oughta be. Ain’t that what you said? It was supposed to be three of us?”

Kraglin sighs. “You’re pretty fucked up,” he says eventually as he curls around Rocket and rests his cheek against the top of Rocket’s head.

“No joke.” He’s a little bitter, but he figures he’s entitled.

“Do I feel like a cheap imitation t’ you?” Kraglin asks after a bit.

Rocket’s never heard him sound so small. He sniffles. “No,” he says. “Not really. Just ain’t complete, that’s all.”

“No,” Kraglin agrees softly. “Ain’t ever gonna be again.”

And then his arms are around Rocket, holding him fiercely as he gives in again, riding the wave and sobbing until his head hurts and his whole body’s shaking. Rocket thinks Kraglin’s crying too, but his fur’s wet from his own tears, so he can’t be sure.

He falls asleep like that, safe and warm with Kraglin’s scent all around him.

It’s so close to perfect.

—

The next day drags by; there’s nothing to do while they wait for the Quadrant to catch up to them. Kraglin comms Ogord to make sure she has all the supplies on hand for such a large body count, but she does, and it’s a short call. Then they’re back to having nothing to do.

So they fuck. They fuck in the cockpit, watching the stars with Quill’s music in the background while Rocket lets Kraglin push his cock between his closed thighs. And after, when they get bored again, Kraglin lets Rocket finally peel his disgusting underwear off and lick at his cock like he wanted to last night. He likes how it tastes, and the way Kraglin moans.

It feels depraved, the shit they’re doing. The way Rocket gets twitchy and needy under his skin, wants Kraglin to push his legs apart, pin him down, whisper filthy shit about how Yondu loved getting his nipples sucked while he plays with Rocket’s asshole. Kraglin tells him so many dirty stories, swallowing Rocket’s cock and pulling off just before he comes to tell him more of Yondu’s secrets, until Rocket’s so horny and desperate he don’t know what to do with himself.

There’s thirty-five dead guys down in the hold, and Rocket’s got his hands buried in Kraglin’s hair as he comes in Kraglin’s mouth with a snarl.

“Is it normal, what we’re doing?” he asks Kraglin after round four, as they slump bonelessly in the pilot’s chair. Kraglin’s dick is still flopping out of his jumpsuit.

“Dunno.” Kraglin pets his back. He knows just where to put his hands now; probably knows how to touch Rocket better than anyone at this point. “I ain’t thinkin’ about it.”

Not a bad idea. Some shit just don’t make sense, and Rocket figures this counts.

Still. “Can I ask you something?”

“What’s that?” Kraglin yawns, the metal of his teeth glinting in the starlight.

“At the funeral. After we...after Yondu was gone. Did you see anything?”

Kraglin frowns. “Like what? The colors?”

“No, not the colors.” Rocket looks out at the stars. “Forget it.”

“Tell me.” Kraglin nibbles on Rocket’s ear; he twitches it out of Kraglin’s mouth. 

“I saw the arrow.” Rocket don’t look at him. “His ashes formed an arrow.”

Kraglin is quiet. Rocket’s almost afraid to turn and look at him, but when he does, Kraglin’s just looking out at the stars with a thoughtful expression.

“You sure?” he asks softly.

Rocket frowns. Part of him is disappointed that Kraglin didn’t see it too. He’s sort of been hoping this was another thing they had together. “I saw it,” he repeats stubbornly.

“I believe you.” Kraglin’s jaw tightens.

Rocket swallows. “You do?” he asks in a small voice.

Kraglin squeezes him. “Yeah,” he says. “Colors meant somethin’ t’ me an’ Pete. But you ain’t a Ravager. You needed somethin’ else.”

For a second Rocket can’t breathe. The thought of Yondu doing that for Rocket—just for Rocket—is more than he can take. Sending Rocket a sign like that, because Yondu knew, he _always_ knew that Rocket would need it. Because he knew Rocket.

Because he cared about him.

Just like Groot, giving back a piece of himself so Rocket wouldn’t be so alone.

Rocket stares out at the stars with a dawning sense of wonder, overcome by the thought that anyone loved him that much. 

That arrow was for him. Kraglin and Quill had their own faith.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Kraglin reaches over to wipe his face.

“Told ya,” he whispers as he holds Rocket tighter. “You were the one I was gonna have t’ watch out for.”

It’s funny how the same words can change their meaning, Rocket thinks as he leans back against Kraglin’s chest. A few days ago being the one to watch out for stood between them like a big, ugly wall. Now Kraglin says it with something like pride, and maybe it is something to be proud of. 

Something like Rocket means enough to someone like Yondu that he reached out beyond death to comfort him. 

Fuck.

He’d better get some candles and shit. If Yondu’s gonna reach out, the least Rocket can do is reach back.

—

They hold the funeral on the Quadrant. Stakar tried to suggest they have it on his ship, but Quill and Kraglin insisted, and Ogord—Rocket should probably start thinking of her as Aleta so he don’t mix her up with her husband—agreed.

It takes hours. There are candles to light, flowers to haul over from Stakar’s ship, ribbons and medals to adorn the bodies with, and slabs to arrange everyone on.

The bodies that were blown to pieces get covered with a dark red cloth. It’s way nicer than saying the rites over half a torso and an elbow.

Quill performs the actual ceremony, which surprised Rocket until Kraglin pointed out that he passed on the captaincy and gave it to Quill instead. Aleta and Stakar stand at the back, along with Martinex, the guy Yondu dumped for Kraglin once upon a time. He sparkles prettily against the wall.

Apparently Yondu didn’t really have a type.

Rocket tries to focus and pay attention to the rites, because this shit mattered to Yondu. These guys mattered to Yondu, and even Rocket knows that if you love someone, you’ve gotta care about the shit they care about.

So he listens while Quill talks about how Tullk taught him how to sew and patch his leathers as a kid, and the time Oblo and Kraglin snuck him off the ship while Yondu was whoring it up and got him so drunk he puked on Yondu’s boots the next morning and landed them all on cleaning duty for a week.

Kraglin snorts quietly beside him, and Rocket glances over with a tiny smile. 

Kraglin wipes his eyes and smiles back sadly.

Quill has a story for every guy, even the ones whose bodies are gone. The more he talks, the better picture Rocket gets of the family Yondu created out of scraps. The way these holdouts stuck with Yondu and helped him raise his weird alien kid in spite of the jerks on the periphery.

He didn’t realize what he was seeing, during the mutiny. It makes him vaguely ashamed that he didn’t do more. 

And then it’s time to send them off. One by one, Quill and Kraglin send the bodies into the incinerator while the others stand and watch. 

When it’s over, Stakar makes a signal, and the colors burst forth from the gaggle of ships that showed up. It’s nothing like Yondu’s funeral, which was overwhelming. This is smaller, quieter.

Looking at Kraglin’s face, Rocket sees that it still makes all the difference.

After the lights fade, the various ships vanish through the jump point. Soon only the two belonging to Stakar and Aleta are left.

“Obfonteri.” Aleta Ogord is standing with her hands on her hips when they turn to her. “I told you I was gonna ask again.”

Quill looks between them. “What’s going on?”

Kraglin drops his eyes to the ground and shifts uncomfortably. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Aleta, what are you doing?” Stakar hisses.

The look she gives him could peel paint; he holds up his hands and backs up.

“Well?” she says when she’s done glaring Stakar into submission. “Have you pulled your head out of your ass enough to see what was obvious to the rest of us?”

Behind Stakar, Martinex makes a soft noise.

Quill finally catches on. “Oh shit,” he whispers with a wide-eyed look at Kraglin. 

Kraglin squares his shoulders and faces her. “I can’t take ‘em,” he says. “An’ I don’t need ‘em. Clan ain’t continuing like it normally would, so it wouldn’t do me any good t’ have widow’s rights.”

Aleta studies him, her sharp eyes narrowing. “I’d feel better giving you something,” she tells him. 

“You stayed with him.” Martinex’s voice breaks, but he straightens up from his defeated slump. “No one deserves it more.”

Kraglin turns wide eyes on Martinex before he casts a desperate look at Rocket. “I—”

“What do you actually want?” Rocket asks, because this is getting ridiculous.

“Don’t want nothin’.” Kraglin looks between them all and settles on Quill. “You gave me the arrow. That’s all I need.”

Quill bites his lip, and that’s when Rocket realizes he never meant to give Kraglin the arrow. He handed it over on impulse because Kraglin gave him the Zune.

For a second he sees red; how could Quill even think of keeping Yondu’s heart when he already has the rest of him?

But it passes, and Rocket lets out a slow, measured breath. Quill loves Yondu too. He has as much right to him as any of them.

“Kraglin,” says Quill carefully, and they all turn to him, “I know you and Yondu had your weird rule, but we knew. We all knew. So...name it, man. I—” He looks down. “We’re family, right?”

Kraglin stares at Quill, mouth open a little. “Pete,” he begins, and then swallows. “Cap’n,” he tries again.

Quill looks at him with wide, wounded eyes.

“He woulda stayed with you.” Kraglin nods to himself. “Dunno how long it woulda taken him t’ figure out that’s what he wanted, but that’s what he woulda done. I reckon he’d want me t’ keep an eye on ya, if you got no problem with that.”

Rocket’s hands clench involuntarily.

“Of course,” Quill whispers. “Shit, Kraglin, of course you’re staying with us.” 

Kraglin gives him a jerky nod, and a half-remembered salute. “Then that’s all I want.”

Rocket wraps his arms around himself. Somehow the thought that Kraglin might leave never crossed his mind, and the relief he feels at knowing it’s not gonna happen has him a little weak-kneed.

Aleta’s hands drop from her hips and she gives Kraglin a long, searching look. “You were right, you know,” she finally says. Her face twists and she angrily rubs at her eyes. “Goddammit.”

Martinex puts a hand on her shoulder, but she shoves him off and turns away. After she takes a moment to compose herself, she rounds on Quill. “You,” she growls.

Quill looks a little alarmed.

“You need backup, or help, call me. Doesn’t matter what it is. I’ll come.” She stares at him so intently that even Rocket feels uncomfortable.

“I—” Quill gulps. “Yeah, thanks. Okay.”

Aleta nods once before turning sharply and stalking back to the M-ship they all took to the Quadrant. She doesn’t even look at Stakar or Martinex.

“I’ll be in touch, Quill,” Stakar mutters. He won’t quite meet Quill’s eyes. 

“Don’t bother,” Kraglin mumbles under his breath. When Rocket quirks an eyebrow, he says, “we ran into him right before that Ayesha chick showed up. Humiliated the Cap’n in front o’ the whole crew. Made him look weak.” He spits on the floor.

“Gross.” Rocket’s gonna have to domesticate him. Because potty training Groot wasn’t enough work. “Want me to blow up his ship?”

Kraglin looks at him. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”

Rocket shrugs.

Quill steps closer to them as they watch the M-ship depart. “They’re not what I expected,” he says.

“Fuck ‘em,” Kraglin says viciously. “Only one worth a damn is Aleta.” 

Quill blinks. “I didn’t know you felt that way.” He’s looking at Kraglin like he’s never really seen him before.

Kraglin gives him a sideways look. “Why would ya? Ain’t like we ever talked about nothin’.”

“You still pissed at me for leaving?” asks Quill in a small voice.

Kraglin sighs. “Nah. No point. You two wasn’t good for each other. Didn’t take a genius t’ see that. I get why ya left.”

“I wish...” Quill looks like a little kid for a second.

“We all do,” says Kraglin gently. “Hey.”

Quill bites his lip. 

“Come on. If he was here he’d be givin’ us shit for standin’ around mopin’ all over the place.” Kraglin’s trying a little too hard to be cheerful, but Quill gives him a tired smile anyway.

“Yeah, guess so,” he mutters.

“Well,” says Rocket casually, “if you’re sticking around, you’re probably gonna need a place to stay.”

Kraglin and Quill both look down like they forgot he was here. Rude.

Kraglin’s lips twitch. “Guess so. You offerin’ t’ share?”

“Might be.” Rocket digs through the bag on his hip like it ain’t a big deal. 

“Guess I could then. He was awful fond of ya, after all.”

“Yeah, what’s that about?” Quill’s smiling when Rocket looks up. “Got yourself adopted, Rocket?”

Rocket blinks. “I really didn’t.”

Kraglin snickers. “I’m glad I don’t have t’ kill you, Rocket,” he says. “I sorta like you.”

Quill’s eyebrows furrow as he looks between Rocket and Kraglin, and then they shoot all the way up to his hairline. “Uhhh...”

Rocket looks down. He’s not sure why he’s embarrassed, but his thing for Yondu seems kind of stupid when Quill’s looking at it.

Kraglin runs an affectionate hand over Rocket’s head, catching the nice spot behind his ear, and that makes him feel a little better about the whole thing.

He peers up at Quill, defensive.

Quill’s staring down at him like he’s never quite seen him before. “He was way too old for you,” he finally says, and the tension behind Rocket’s ribs eases.

“Still looked pretty good to me.” Rocket flashes Quill a crooked grin.

“Ew,” says Quill cheerfully.

Kraglin snorts. “Come on,” he tells Rocket. “Why don’t ya show me where we’re gonna be stayin’?”

“Where’d you leave your bag?”

Kraglin jerks his head, indicating where he’d dumped it before the funeral.

“Okay. Good, grab it an’ we’ll see what’s open.” Rocket smiles.

“Rocket,” says Quill gently, “we’re looking at getting the _Milano_ fixed up in the next few days. You good with that?”

Rocket blinks. Seems like a lifetime ago they’d crashed the ship. “Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. It’s gonna be hard not to see Yondu’s shadow hiding in Berhert’s trees, or hear distant whistling. 

He’ll deal. He’s got Kraglin to lean on.

The arrow in Kraglin’s hands catches the light when he moves, and it makes Rocket think. Thing like that ain’t meant to sit on a shelf somewhere gathering dust and memories. Not when they’ve all seen how Yondu made it dance.

“Kraglin,” Rocket says abruptly; specs and plans are already unspooling in his head.

“What?” Kraglin lifts his bag onto his shoulder, shuffling the arrow a little.

Rocket smiles. “You know how to whistle?”


End file.
